


livid as a bruise

by littlematchkid (bravepress)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:50:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravepress/pseuds/littlematchkid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mum always did tend to confuse the paprika with the chili powder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

luna is loneliest at lunch. she repeats this to herself like a theme song, even puts a quiet tune to it when there's no one else in the common room. _loony luna is loneliest at lunch._

only because food is not her friend-

but she doesn't have friends, does she? it's not something that bothers her; it's another fact to file away in the back of her head, next to the watering schedule for the dirigible plums and her sneaking suspicion that stubby boardman might not actually be sirius black.

 

no. it's never been about the food-

(though she does remember her mother's attempts at cooking; things swimming in oil or sauce, things that tasted good enough to eat

good enough to eat! can you imagine?

-but after  _the spell that went horribly awry,_ nothing tasted quite as good.)

 

it's never been about the food, despite what the other ravenclaw girls say. and they seem to all have opinions of her and her food (or lack thereof), which honestly she thinks is a bit unfair, because goodness knows they make enough fun of her already.

normally she just puts these things on the back burner, and it's not an issue because there are more important things to think about. but she assumes the snide remarks ( _like a little bird! and she's got the bug eyes, too. legs like toothpicks_ \- although the last one actually cheered her up a bit) will continue on as always. she'll go on pretending to ignore them and her classmates will go on thinking she's rather odd.

 

ginny stopped giving her funny looks after the sixth or seventh time they had lunch together.

(ginny had pumpkin pie. luna had a plate full of air.)

and it's not like it matters, really. it's just food, and it all tastes the same- a little like defeat.

 

so she avoids it. and days will go by without her having any proper meals, but honestly, she can't say that it bothers her. every bite tastes a little like the last dish her mum made.

(some sort of eggplant casserole. she remembers her mother's experimentation with spices- everything always tasted just a little bit off. mum always did tend to confuse the paprika with the chili powder.)

 

she doesn't eat.

 

she doesn't need it. it's just food, it's not like it's magic. she  _needs_ magic. on the days when she doesn't even mutter a simple spell, she feels as though her heart is caving in.

she can run her hands up and down her ribs and count most of them, on the days she  _forgets_ to eat. they feel like the keys of a xylophone.

 

she imagines the music her bones must make, and smiles. 

 

-

 

later, luna will reflect.

 

after the war, once  _harry-ron-hermione_ have been split into  _harry-ginny_ and  _ron-hermione_ , and their prospective children have been made and named, she will find a mirror and give herself a quizzical stare.

sometimes she will wonder if she sees what other people do; there are miles of skin on her body, interspersed with hills that rise like past mistakes (where she sees pudge, others see the sharp cut of bones)

 

there will be a conversation with hermione, at some point.

_honestly loon... luna. really. you're skin and bones. you're hardly even there._

this will be right after everything begins to settle down. just before the rebuilding starts. she'll look back on it fondly.  _just a little overworked, no need for concern._ she will smile crookedly at hermione, who will wince in return.  _i think we're all under a little stress._

 

and eventually, there will be a fight with ginny, who refuses to put up with "the madness" anymore.

_that's it, luna. i mean it. if you're not even going to try, i'm not going to try either._

the door will slam behind her. 

the house will seem quite empty.

time will pass.

 

she will meet a man, but with the exception of one night (resulting in the culmination of her existence, as she will later come to know the child), they will never touch. there will be no clandestine kisses, no hands being held under tables. luna will believe him to be repulsed by her.

(and that makes sense, of course, because she knows she's disgusting. she doesn't need anyone else to point it out to her.)

in fact, he will be absolutely in love and absolutely terrified that he will break his fragile new wife.

 

but for now-

 

there is a body at her feet. she doesn't recognize the student- for all of her adventures, for all the people she's come to know over the past year, for her fantastic memory, she has apparently missed this boy.

another explosion rocks the ground she stands on, and a candleholder falls off the wall and nearly grazes her arm. she flits sideways just in time.

 

she mouths  _i'm sorry_ at the boy on the ground, then begins to run toward the great hall. the castle is crumbling around her, she can feel it. but for now, loony luna has a secret-

 

she is skin and bones, and very little else. she is weightless. she can fly.


	2. Chapter 2

before the war-

 

the two of you are in awkward juxtaposition- your head, nearly aflame with the weight of weasley, bobbing alongside her fearfully gangly arms and legs. luna, a name as pale as her hair. perhaps the reason you get along so well is the simple fact that to you, she is not lonely-loony-luna. the ridicule she faces makes her stronger.

 

...right?

 

luna takes the twisted faces and backhanded compliments with a smile. she seems to understand that these conversations are beneath her, and you envy her for that. the baggage that you drag around (and attempt, in vain, to ignore) as the youngest girl of seven means that you are pulled under the current of hate more easily than luna, even though it's less often directed at you. it's easier to ignore the slytherins, you think, because they're useless to begin with. your friend must contend with animosity from her own house, and though you wish you could help her, she remains alone.

it's not obvious, at first-

 

- _why would she hide this,_ you think.  _luna never hides anything. why now?_

 

but luna has begun to disappear into herself, giving you that signature vague smile and a mumbled explanation that she's not going to be at lunch, she's got to study. you pull the hem of her cloak behind you, towards the great hall, because she's already quite thin, isn't she? and everyone likes food.

you watch her choke down a bit of dry toast before she scurries away, head bowed. 

she seems defeated, somehow.

 

 

after the war-

 

she is small enough to float away, you're sure of it. a broom would not bend to her will because it wouldn't feel her weight. the two of you board together for a few months after you leave the smoldering wreckage of hogwarts behind, and you never grow used to seeing luna's doll-like robes folded on the table.

you managed to grow up in the battle. you found harry again- somehow the blood and dust and ashes made you closer- and you have found yourself to be happy. luna, however, as become smaller, mentally and physically. the airy smiles and talk of crumple-horned snorkacks has ended. you remember the days of name-calling in your preteens, and you wonder if this is somehow related.

 

eventually you sit her down and attempt to have a frank discussion. 

_you've got to stop this, luna. it's not safe._

she hasn't the faintest idea what you're talking about.

_the eating, and the... i don't know. the moping about. why don't we get a drink with ron and hermione tonight?_

the silence luna is capable of could break anyone's heart.

 

it's a bit lonely, living this way. you catch a glimpse of a porcelain arm, breakable as any glass, on your way out the door. but then-

-a hand catches your sleeve, and that smile emerges from a curtain of blonde hair.

_i... okay. maybe this once, yeah?_

your hot air balloon heart rises in your chest, and you walk arm in arm to the pub. it's not much, but it's enough.


End file.
